Give the Devil His Due
by Bad Faery
Summary: Jackson wants a lot of things.  Revenge is first on the list.
1. Chapter 1

Jackson twisted on the narrow bed, fighting for consciousness. He growled through his teeth at the agony that shot through every part of his body. The pain was unbearable, surpassing even the worst that his psychopathic father had inflicted on him.

With a feeling of triumph, he wrenched his eyes open, finding himself in a small, sterile white room. He blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where he was. As he rolled his head to the left, a tall figure came into view. Mr. Marlowe, Jackson's direct superior, took a long drag on his cigarette and shook his head slowly.

"Jackson, I must say that we're very disappointed in you."

His mind raced as he struggled to remember the chain of events that had left him in this bed. Keefe. The plane. Lisa. Knives and guns and pens. The telephone.

"Lisa..." Jackson rasped, his voice nominally stronger than it had been after his impromptu tracheotomy. "She... made the call..."

"And promptly made another one," Marlowe told him crisply. "She called in a warning to Keefe after she got away from you. A rather pathetic showing for your first assignment, don't you think?"

Jackson shifted uncomfortably, unable to think of a way to defend himself. It had been a poor showing. That slip of a girl had outthought and outmaneuvered him at every turn. Worse than that, she'd gotten around his defenses, distracted him with her vulnerable eyes and her so-very-female emotions. Mentally, he steeled himself against Marlowe's censure. He knew well enough that there was no defense he could offer that would cool his boss's anger. Deciding that his fate was out of his hands, he decided to tell the truth.

"It was a stupid plan."

To Jackson's surprise, Marlowe chuckled. However, his hopes of appeasing the man were immediately dashed when the older man spoke again, "Of course it was a stupid plan, you fool. It was your job to realize that and do something about it. And you failed spectacularly."

A test. Jackson's eyes fluttered closed. It had all been a test. He'd been so desperate to show that he was worthy of their trust that the thought had never even occurred to him.

When he opened his eyes, Marlowe was staring down at him with something that looked almost like pity. "We had such high hopes for you. The perfect candidate. Intelligent. Violent. Totally devoid of emotion. And yet you crashed and burned."

"You have one week to recuperate," Marlowe continued. "After that you will be removed from the Center's property permanently."

Jackson went stiff with shock and terror at the older man's words. Removed. He'd heard that euphemism before. And here in this bed, connected to more tubes and wires than he could count, he was totally helpless to stop them from killing him.

Marlowe chuckled again at the fear in Jackson's eyes. "So, not quite emotionless after all," he noted dryly. "You think too much of yourself, Jackson. You're not worth the resources it would take us to dispose of you."

Without another word, the man turned and left the small room. The heavy door swung shut behind him, closing with the loud click that indicated a lock. Jackson would have bet anything that he wouldn't be leaving here until his captors chose to let him out. Now he was nothing more to them than an animal in a cage.

Anger boiled inside him, burning away his pain and fear. So they thought he was useless, did they? They thought he was incompetent, a fool who was beneath their notice.

He would prove to them how wrong they were.


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson spent the next week wrapped in a cocoon of silence. He didn't acknowledge the faceless orderlies who checked his machinery and brought him food. He ate little, only enough to provide his broken body with fuel for its repair. He spent the week in fierce concentration, willing his bones and flesh to knit themselves back together. He needed to be whole for what was coming next.

To that end, he was remarkably successful. On the day he was released from his prison, the orderly told his burly guard that he had never seen anyone heal as quickly as Jackson Rippner. The guard grunted a reply before taking one of Jackson's arms and propelling him out of the building. In a matter of moments, Jackson found himself deposited on the edge of a swamp with only the clothes on his back and his knife, looking at the carefully concealed entrance to the Center.

He was truly alone now.

He squared his shoulders and turned his back on the building that had sheltered him, one way or another, since his youth. He wouldn't be going back in there. Not now. Not until he had proved that they'd been mistaken about him and pleaded with him to return.

As he began to walk, Jackson retreated inside of himself. He let the lingering pain in his chest fade from his awareness as he strode in the direction of civilization. His entire being focused on one goal: prove himself. The only question was how to do it.

That was an easy enough question to answer. He'd been removed because he'd failed to kill Keefe and his family. It was a simple leap to decide that in order to return to the fold, he would have to complete his mission.

The plan he'd been given had been idiotic. There had been too many things that could go wrong, too much reliance on other people. There'd been too many opportunities for Lisa to interfere.

Lisa.

Jackson's steady footsteps faltered and then stopped as he allowed himself to think of her for the first time in a week. He inhaled deeply, the moist air of the nearby vegetation transforming into the sweet musk of her perfume. He called up the memories of his hours with her, once again feeling her soft body pressed against his, the beat of her heart fluttering against his palm as he caressed her scar. He wished he'd given her that scar, that he'd been the one to permanently mark her in that way. He wanted a guarantee that she would always remember him, the way seeing the scar on his own throat would always trigger thoughts of her.

What would it have been like, he wondered, to have been the man holding a knife to her throat, pushing up her skirt, forcing his way into her? A strange mixture of arousal and rage filled him as he considered the question. The thought of taking Lisa made him groan, made him hard. The thought that someone else had done that to her, had defiled her, made him homicidal. Lisa was his, he decided. No one else was allowed to hurt her. Only he could do that.

Keefe. It took an almost physical effort to bring his thoughts back to his present concern. He needed a plan. He needed to correct the mistakes he had made before. He needed something intimate and personal instead of the complex, sprawling plan that had failed him.

He resumed his walk, footsteps becoming almost jaunty as he struck on an idea. He would complete his mission, and he would do it in a way that the Center would have to acknowledge. He would leave no room for mistakes, and he certainly wouldn't give anyone else the chance to claim credit.

Jackson Rippner. Jack the Ripper.

He was going to capitalize on his infamous namesake's ideas. If the Center wanted to send a message, a message Jackson would send. And there was no better way to do it than to emulate one of the masters.

Imagine the reaction in the press when the Keefe family was found, guards and all, in their very secure hotel suite, still locked from the inside. Imagine the shock and horror that would spread when word leaked out, as it always did, about how the family was found. The guards would be in the living area, throats slit. As the police moved further into the suite, the horrors would mount.

The children would be found in their beds, throats cut as well. Jackson sighed a little at the necessity of killing them. He didn't approve of involving children in the business, especially ones who'd done nothing but be born into the wrong family. However, desperate times... All he could do for them would be to make it as quick and painless as possible. He'd leave them intact afterwards. To do anything more would be uncivilized.

The parents would be where the real statement was made. He'd take out Keefe and his wife in the same manner he killed the rest, but it would be what happened to their bodies afterwards that would truly get everyone's attention.

He'd make what his namesake did to Mary Jane Kelly look like child's play.

Disemboweled. Organs strewn through the room. He'd have to think of something creative to do with their hearts, something to be the absolute capper on the macabre scene. He had plenty of time.

In the right hands, assassination could move out of the realm of business into the world of art.

Jackson was an artist.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't hard for Jackson to reintegrate into society. During his time at the Center, he'd made a variety of contingency plans, just in case he ever found himself in need of some quick cash or a new identity. Jackson had plenty of those to chose from.

The hardest part had been getting from the swamp to Miami. Due to the Center's remote location, few cars passed Jackson during the first leg of his trek. Then, as he got into a more populated area, drivers seemed strangely reluctant to pick up the young man, well-dressed though he was. Perhaps they saw something in his eyes that dissuaded them.

Jackson wasn't about to let something as insignificant as distance defeat him. He simply refused to let himself feel anything more than his feet striking the pavement in a steady, ceaseless rhythm. He blocked out everything except for his need to prove himself to his former superiors. That feeling he fed, letting the burning sensation in his stomach that grew at the thought of revenge fuel his lengthy walk.

His determination served him well. In a shorter time than most people would think it possible to walk those long miles, Jackson arrived at the outskirts of Miami. He turned down a street that he hadn't been on for over six years, yet knew intimately. He'd studied the city before choosing this area for its supreme disinterest in the actions of strangers. No one noticed Jackson as he crossed the street to a small, yet elegant, bank and stepped inside.

In short order, Jackson had charmed his way past a young teller and found himself alone with an open safe deposit box. The fact that he didn't have his own key hadn't hindered him in the slightest. It was a poor assassin would couldn't pick a lock.

From the box, he withdrew a wallet , five hundred dollars in cash, a set of car keys and a checkbook connected to another bank in Maine. In his business, it made sense to spread the wealth around.

The wallet contained a driver's license with his own name on it. There were others in the box, but it made little sense to change his identity at this point in the game. If his superiors changed their minds and decided that they wanted him dead, something as insignificant as a new name and birthday wouldn't even slow them down.

Jackson locked the box again, leaving inside four other wallets with four other names in them, half a dozen passports, and nearly ten thousand dollars. He tossed a flirtatious smile at the teller on his way out and promptly dismissed her from his mind as he walked a block down the street to a parking garage.

The attendant wasn't eager to let Jackson's black Mercedes coupe go considering how long it had been parked, but when Jackson offered him three hundred dollars in cash to turn a blind eye, the man was much more understanding.

Less than thirty-six hours since his dismissal from the Center, Jackson was once again well-rested as he relaxed in a tastefully decorated apartment near the ocean, sipping a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and trying to decide what his next move would be. It would be easier to track Keefe's movements with the help of the Center's information network. Unfortunately, since Jackson was on his own, he would have to do things the old-fashioned way. If one knew where to look and had even an elementary knowledge of hacking, it was possible to find almost anything out on the internet. Jackson knew where to look and his hacking skills were much more than elementary.

It took a matter of hours to find Keefe's itinerary. Although he was scheduled to be traveling in the midwest for much of the next month before returning home, there was a notation for the following week that piqued his curiosity. "Wednesday (8/24)- 1:00-3:00- Miami." Nothing more than the time and location but Jackson was able to guess the purpose of the trip.

Lisa.

It was too risky to try and get to Keefe in Miami. The attempted assassination would put his security force on extra alert everywhere. In the city where the attempt had taken place, their vigilance would be impossible to overcome. It was utterly pointless to go after Keefe in Miami.

Jackson was curious as to why Keefe would want to see Lisa. She'd told him that Keefe was a good man, but the public official and the hotel manager should hardly find themselves in the same social circle. Perhaps he simply wanted to thank her for saving his life. Jackson fought down an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach as he decided that better be all Keefe wanted from Lisa.

Trampling down his wayward emotions, Jackson made himself a reservation in Aspen for the same day Keefe was supposed to be in Miami. The politician would be traveling to Colorado next and the extra time would give Jackson to luxury to get situated without worrying about being noticed. He was briefly tempted to get himself a room in the Colorado branch of the Lux Atlantic, but decided that it would be irresponsible to take the risk when the Hyatt would do just as well.

Reservation made, he drummed his fingers on the desktop and stared into space. Now that he'd gotten the first segment of his plan in motion, he decided that he deserved a reward. Leaning back in his leather desk chair, he pictured what Lisa was doing now. It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening, which meant she would be just finishing her shift at the hotel. She'd bestow a warm smile on the guests checking in at the last minute before turning the computer over to Cynthia to run the night shift. She'd grab her jacket, even though it was still in the seventies outside, and make her way to her car, head high, eyes darting through the parking lot for any possible threat.

Jackson had watched her do this same thing every night for six weeks. Now, in his imagination, he placed himself at the scene again. Instead of lurking in his car, this time he was leaning casually against hers. Lisa's steps faltered when she saw him, but she kept walking, reaching into her pocket for a can of pepper spray.

Moving quickly, Jackson grabbed her wrist, knocking the pepper spray out of her grasp, and covered her mouth with his hand. He used his weight to push her back against the car, pinning her there with his body.

"Feel familiar?" he hissed at her, relishing the fear in her eyes.

She glared at him, fear fading into anger as he mocked her. Her rebellion angered him, and he moved his hand from her mouth to her throat, tightening his grasp until she gasped for air. "That's better," he whispered, "That's a good girl, Lisa."

"Bastard," she choked out, and he squeezed tighter, cutting off her air supply completely.

"Now, now," he corrected her in a gentle tone. "That mouth is too pretty to say such ugly things."

He held on until her face begin to go scarlet from lack of air. When he sensed she was on the verge of passing out, he dropped his hand from her neck, letting her breathe freely again. "Say thank you," he prompted.

Lisa rubbed her neck and glared up at him. "For what?" she asked in disbelief.

Jackson leaned in and ran his mouth over the side of her neck, breathing in her sweet, musky smell once more. "For letting you live," he murmured against her skin. "I should kill you for what you've done. You've been a very naughty girl."

"I should've killed you when I had the chance..." Lisa muttered, her body stiff in his embrace.

"Probably," Jackson acknowledged, "but that's not what I mean."

"What-" He didn't give her the chance to ask what he meant. Before she could finish her first word, he had his hand around her throat again, squeezing the life out of her.

"Why is Keefe coming back here, Lisa?" he snarled, still choking her. "What is he to you?"

Lisa's eyes went wide at his line of questioning. Jackson released his grip, letting her catch her breath to answer him. "What- what are you talking about?"

He reached up and cradled her face in his hand in a parody of affection. Jackson leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers. "Are you sleeping with him?" he whispered hoarsely. "Is that why you fought me so much?"

"You're insane..." Lisa breathed shakily.

"Answer me!" He realized he was squeezing her face tightly enough to leave marks and loosened his grip. "Are you sleeping with him?"

Stubbornly, Lisa raised her chin to look him in the eye. "What's it to you?" she asked challengingly.

Jackson pressed his body flush against hers, letting her feel his erection. "You're mine," he growled. "I'll kill you if you let him touch you again."

"Jackson..." The sound of his name on her lips undid him. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to the spot where her neck met her shoulder and sunk his teeth into that tender place. Lisa arched against him with a strangled cry, and he withdrew enough to lap at the blood flowing from the mark he had made.

"You're mine," he rasped again, only this time it sounded uncomfortably like a plea. His hands went to her breasts, cupping their full weight as Lisa bit back a moan. Fascinated by the sound, Jackson followed it to its source, running his tongue over her lips and demanding entrance.

Lisa held herself stiffly for a long moment, then opened her mouth for him. As she did

so, her arms went around his neck, her fingers tangling in his unkempt hair. "I'm yours," she murmured as his mouth moved down to attack her neck. "I love you, Jackson."

Dream-Lisa's words wrenched Jackson back to reality. He looked around wildly, finding himself still in his apartment, stroking himself through his pants as he fantasized about a woman who had nearly killed him. Gasping, he jerked his hand away from his erection and slammed it down on the desk hard enough to bruise. The pain burned away the sensual fog that had clouded his thinking as he ground his teeth, breathing hard.

Love? What in God's name was he thinking? He didn't have those kinds of feelings. Those feelings made people weak, made them easy to exploit. He'd loved his parents once, and they took advantage of that love to nearly destroy him. The physical scars they'd left on him were nothing when compared to the still-raw gashes on his psyche. He'd strangled those feelings and used that new strength to bludgeon his parents while they slept, freeing himself from their never-ending abuse once and for all. That night, at the advanced age of fourteen, he swore to himself that no one else was ever going to have that kind of power over him. No one would be able to damage him like that again.

Somehow, Lisa snuck past all the defenses he'd erected against the very possibility. Without him noticing, her strange mixture of vulnerability and bravado had gotten to him. She'd made him sympathize with her. She'd made him respect her. She'd made him want her. She'd wormed her way into a heart that should have been untouchable and taken control.

It was unacceptable.

He realized, finally, what had gone wrong on the plane. Being with her distracted him, confused him. He screwed up, didn't think. And it had nearly cost him far more than his job.

Even now, in his own apartment, he could feel lingering traces of her. Even now, she was distracting him from his mission. He was supposed to be focused on killing Keefe's family and getting his job back. Instead, he was masturbating in his living room to the thought of Lisa stroking his hair.

This had to stop.

She had to die.


	4. Chapter 4

It was easy to decide how to do it. It had to be personal, intimate, but somewhere where he had the upper hand. He'd made the mistake of fighting her on her own turf once. He wouldn't be doing that again.

His apartment then. After his time here, he knew its secrets and hiding places. She wouldn't escape from him here. Even better, the privacy afforded by these thick walls would give him the luxury to take his time. Oh yes, he knew exactly what he would do to her.

The when was a bit more of an issue. He _should_ wait until Keefe had been disposed of. After his mission was accomplished, he would have plenty of time to devote to his new hobby.

Pleased with the decisions he'd made, Jackson settled in to plan the specifics of the Keefe job. He got as far as deciding to disguise himself as a repairman and gassing the security guards when they came to the door. Whenever he tried to picture his next step, Lisa was there, in his head, breaking his concentration by looking up at him with her hurt eyes. "Jackson, how could you?"

"Dammit!" he swore loudly, infuriated with himself. This was ridiculous. If he couldn't even plan a job without being distracted by thoughts of her, how was he ever going to complete the job? Shaking his head, he threw his earlier decision out the window. He'd do Lisa first. He'd get her out of his head and out of his life. Then he'd be free to proceed with no obstacles.

"Tomorrow," he said out loud, catching his breath with sudden excitement. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lisa."

Jackson bounced out of his chair, almost giddy with anticipation. He surveyed the apartment, trying to see it through her eyes. He didn't plan to let her see much of it, but he hadn't planned to get stabbed through the neck either. Better safe than sorry when it came to Lisa.

He swept through the apartment, gathering up anything that looked like it could be used as a weapon. Anything that was heavy enough to use as a blunt object as well as anything that could possibly be broken into a makeshift knife was placed in the hall closet and securely locked. He devoted extra attention to the bedroom, since that was where he was anticipating spending most of his time with her.

With the apartment secure, Jackson retired to the kitchen, gathering a collection of household products that would produce a fairly strong sedative when mixed in the right proportions. Much more effective than the clumsy head butt that he'd used to subdue her on the plane.

Once he'd created the drug, Jackson forced himself to relax for the rest of the evening. Lisa's shift wouldn't end until ten the next night. He had plenty of time for last-minute preparations. Now the most important thing was to make sure that he was physically ready to carry out his plan for the next night.

Jackson retired to the bedroom, lying down fully clothed on the bed. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself as he pictured having Lisa there. What would she say when she realized that she was at his mercy yet again? Would she plead for her life? Would she curse him?

He drew in a deep breath as he envisioned Lisa bound on his bed. Her eyes flashed dangerously at him as he threatened her with the knife, teasing her with the knowledge that he was free to take her life or her virtue whenever he chose.

Oh yes, revenge would be sweet.


	5. Chapter 5

Jackson spent part of the next day cleaning the bedroom as thoroughly as a man expecting a lover. He changed the sheets and fluffed the pillows, picturing Lisa's long dark hair spread out on the burgundy cases. He'd chosen the color that would best complement her skin.

In the afternoon, he did some shopping, returning with a package of syringes and a length of rope. The syringes he filled lovingly with his homemade sedative, securing several in his jacket pocket and leaving the rest in the bedroom for later. The rope he carefully cut into three pieces, securing their ends to the foot- and headboards of the bed. The knife he laid out next to the bed was his own, the only possession the Center had allowed him to keep when they unceremoniously dismissed him.

He showered and shaved carefully, arranging his hair just so. Jackson did not consider himself a vain man, but he wanted to look his best for a night as special as this one.

He was ready for her.

At nine o'clock he made his way down to the building's entranceway with a jaunty step and hailed a cab that would take him the few miles to the Lux Atlantic. He tipped the driver generously and paused to look through the glass doors, hungry for the sight of Lisa.

Her back was to him, but he would know that slim, deceptively strong body anywhere. She had her hair bound up in a neat French twist that accentuated the graceful length of her neck. Her tailored purple shirt clung to her curves while her short black skirt and sensible pumps set off her legs to their best advantage. She talked animatedly to an older couple who smiled at her as if she were their own daughter. It seemed that everyone was quick to be taken in by Lisa, Jackson thought sourly.

Not wanting to attract attention, Jackson walked the short distance to the employees' designated parking lot. Glancing around to be certain that he was alone, he quickly found Lisa's modest Honda and crouched down beside it. He looked beneath the car, wrinkling his nose fastidiously at the dirt and loose gravel there. Retrieving his handkerchief from his breast pocket, he brushed away as much of the filth as he could before tucking himself into the low space.

Carefully he removed the loaded syringe from his pocket and angled his body so that his armed right hand was directly beneath the lock on the driver's side door. All he had to do now was wait.

Jackson kept his breathing slow and even as he waited for Lisa to come to him. In less than half an hour, his patience was rewarded when he heard her familiar step coming towards him. He frowned to himself when he realized that she had left work a bit earlier than usual. Jackson disliked change.

He saw her feet come into view as she cautiously approached her car. 'Good girl, Lisa. You're taking care of yourself.'

Lisa had just paused, mere inches from him, to unlock her car when Jackson struck. He jerked his wrist, sliding the needle in his hand through her stocking and deep into the artery that began just above her ankle joint. He pressed down on the plunger quickly, driving the sedative into her blood stream. Lisa gave a short cry of pain, jumping back from the car when she felt the stick of the needle.

She staggered backwards, digging in her jacket pocket for her can of pepper spray. The drug was already making its way through her body, making her movements slow and clumsy. As she began to wobble, Jackson emerged from beneath her car, straightening his cuffs and walking briskly toward her.

"Shhhhhh..." he said, gently covering her mouth with his hand when it looked like she was going to scream. Lisa blinked at him in dazed horror, struggling weakly as he wrapped his arm around her and walked her back to her car. Jackson leaned her back against the Honda and braced her there with his body, much as he had fantasized. Her eyes began to glaze over, and he took his hand away from her mouth, deciding that she was too far gone to scream for help.

"That's right," he cooed, running his fingers over the side of her face. "Don't fight it, Lisa. Just sleep now. Sleep."

She blinked once, twice, then her eyes slid shut in a drug-induced slumber. Jackson smiled at her helpless form and leaned down to plant a playful kiss on her forehead. "That's my good girl," he praised her, taking her keys from her hand.

He unlocked the car and tucked her into the passenger seat, belting her in, before taking his place beside her. "So, where to now?" he asked her cheerfully.

"Hmmm," he said after a moment of pretending to listen to her, "That's an interesting idea, Lisa, but I think I have a better one."

He adjusted the rearview mirror and started the car. As he waited for the engine to heat up a little, he reached over and unbound her hair, running his fingers through it until it fell loosely about her face. "That's better."

The drive back to his apartment building took less than ten minutes. Lisa stirred once, moaning softly, but showed no other signs of waking early. Jackson found a parking space and gathered Lisa up in his arms, cradling her against his chest as he carried her into the building.

He pulled the elevator's call button with his elbow and waited patiently, smiling a little when one of the other occupants of the building, a burly, middle-aged man, joined him, staring curiously at Lisa.

"She's had a little too much to drink," he said wryly to the other man, raising his eyebrows at Lisa's prone form.

His companion chuckled, "Yeah, we've all been there." The elevator's arrival cut off the conversation. The other man entered it first, holding the door open for Jackson to carry Lisa on. "What floor?"

"Eighth."

The man nodded and pressed the buttons for eight and ten. He leaned back against the wall, looking admiringly at Lisa. "Pretty girl," he commented boldly, leering at her legs, "You need any help with her?"

Jackson's head jerked up in barely concealed rage at the man's suggestive tone. How dare he talk about Lisa as if she were no better than a common whore? "No, thank you," Jackson said icily, "I believe _my wife_ and I will be fine on our own."

"Shit, sorry man," the man stepped further away from Jackson, giving him wide berth to exit when the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. "Didn't realize she was-"

Jackson looked back over his shoulder as he stepped into the hallway, pinning the man with his frosty stare.

"Sorry!" the man yelped again, hitting the 'Close Doors' button several times. Jackson shook his head as he stalked down the hallway. How dare he look at Lisa that way, Jackson fumed to himself. How _dare_ he?

He carried Lisa into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind them a bit harder than was necessary. Making his way into the bedroom, Jackson carefully deposited her on the wide bed, making sure her head was comfortably on the pillows. He stood over her, staring down unsmiling as he replayed the elevator incident in his head.

"I'll take care of him for you, Lisa," he promised her prone form. "He won't be bothering you anymore."

He busied himself with tying Lisa's wrists and ankles to the bed frame, securing her in a crucifixion pose. As he did so, he fantasized about how he was going to kill the pig who'd had the nerve to look at his Lisa with lust in his eyes. He'd take care of him all right. Right after he got done with her.


	6. Chapter 6

Jackson stretched out on the bed next to Lisa, propping his head up on his left hand. He stared down at her, tracing her face and body with his eyes as he waited for her to wake.

An hour passed, then two.

Jackson frowned. The dose he'd given her should have kept her asleep for no more than an hour. He rested his fingers on her lips, feeling the soft pants of her breath against his skin. Next, he pressed his fingers to her throat, feeling the slow, steady beat of her pulse. She seemed fine. Maybe she just needed some encouragement to wake up.

"Lisa..." he sing-songed, leaning over to whisper in her ear. "Time to wake up..."

When she didn't move, Jackson reached over and picked up his knife off the bedside table. He ran the flat of the blade over the side of her face, smiling as she frowned and shifted in her sleep to get away from the cold metal. Jackson continued moving the knife down over her throat until he reached the collar of her blouse.

"Lisa," he called to her again, "If you don't wake up, bad things are going to start happening."

He shrugged to himself when she still didn't wake. He'd warned her. He placed the tip of the knife under the top button of her blouse, neatly slicing it off with a flick of his wrist. Using the blade, he pushed her shirt open further, exposing more of her skin to his eyes.

"Lisa," he whispered, so softly that there was no chance his voice would wake her. He sliced off the next button, bringing her scar into view for the first time. With a feather-light touch, he ran the edge of the knife over the mark. Who did she see when she looked at that scar, he wondered. Did she see him or the man who had given it to her?

The thought that Lisa could think of another made his stomach twist. She was supposed to be afraid of him, no one else. He toyed with the idea of gouging out the mark, making it deeper, thicker than it was, cutting out all evidence that some other man had dared touch her.

"Jackson...?" the groggy sound of her voice pulled him out of his reverie. Her looked up from her scar to her face, seeing her eyes blink furiously, trying to bring the world back into focus.

"Ah," he cleared his throat, banishing the gravely tone, and forced himself to sound mockingly friendly. "So, Sleeping Beauty has finally decided to join us."

Lisa moaned a little at his words and tried to shift positions, coming more fully awake when the ropes restrained her. "What-?" She tugged on the restraints, trying and failing to free herself. "What are you doing? What do you want?"

"What do you think I want, Lisa?" he hissed, leaning in so close to her that their noses touched. "What could I possibly want from you?"

"No," she turned her head to create some distance between them. "No. I killed you."

"Apparently not," Jackson laughed at her discomfort. Then he thought a little. "Or maybe you did. Maybe I'm a ghost." He grinned toothily and breathed, "Boo..."

Jackson sat up, saying conversationally, "Or maybe you're just going crazy. The mind, when it's been under stress, sometimes breaks." He twined a lock of her hair around the knife. "Do you think you're crazy, Leese?"

"I think _you_ are," she said boldly.

He tugged on the knife, cutting free the lock of hair he'd been playing with. "Consider this a warning, Lisa," he said, holding her hair before her eyes. "Next time you decide to talk back, I'll cut off something you'll miss more."

Her eyes went wide with fear, but she wisely remained silent. Jackson nodded his approval. "That's a good girl." He patted her hip as though she were a pet who'd performed a trick.

Lisa bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at his condescending manner. Tied as tightly as she was, she had few other ways to express her anger. Jackson moved closer to her, allowing the length of her body to press against her side. Lisa dropped her eyes away from him, creating space in the only way she could. He laughed softly at her discomfort.

"This is all your fault, you know," he said as though he was commenting on the forecast. "If you'd just done what I asked, I would have been out of your life in a matter of hours. You would never have seen me again." Even as he said the words, Jackson wondered how true they were. Could he really have walked away from her completely?

"I might have come around every once in awhile, just to check on you," he continued, sticking with his policy of honesty. "But that wouldn't have mattered to you, would it, Leese?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking to her for an answer. Lisa remained stubbornly silent.

"Of course not!" he exclaimed answering the question himself. "Why, you wouldn't even know I was there. After all, you never did before." Jackson smiled at her and ran his hand over the side of her face. When Lisa instinctively flinched away, his face went hard.

"You don't like to think about that, do you, Leese?" he asked in a low tone. "You don't like knowing that I watched you. You don't like to wonder what I saw, what you did when you didn't know I was looking."

Lisa's breath quickened, and Jackson knew that he'd hit a nerve. Leaning down, he pressed his mouth to her ear and continued to torment her with his voice, "I saw how few friends you have. How long will it be before someone realizes you're gone, Leese?" She shivered at his words, and he smiled. "It won't be until you don't show up at the hotel, right? That's over twelve hours away. Just think what I could do to you between now and then."

From the look in her eyes, Jackson could tell that she was indeed thinking about it. He pressed his advantage, "I can do whatever I want to you, Lisa. And there are so many things I want to do..."

He retrieved the knife and waved it slowly in front of her eyes. "I could keep you alive for hours while I use this." He ran the tip of the knife over her scar, watching her eyes follow his movement.

Sensing her weakness, Jackson pounced ruthlessly, "But that wouldn't be the worst thing I could do to you, Lisa, would it?" He continued to tease her scar with the knife. "I know what would be worse."

Tossing the knife carelessly to the floor beside the bed, Jackson placed his now-empty hand on Lisa's breast, just under the scar, and squeezed her flesh clinically. "I watched you do a lot of things, Leese," he whispered darkly, "I saw you slide your hand between your legs..."

As he spoke, he trailed his hand over her body, down towards her groin. Lisa went stiff and turned her eyes away from him, but she didn't struggle. As a reward for her good behavior, he stopped at her stomach, resting his hand possessively on her vulnerable abdomen. "You always stopped though. I always wondered why you stopped. I guess I know now, don't I? But you wouldn't be able to tell me to stop..."

Lisa's body was now rigid with terror, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps. Jackson stared down at her for a moment, wondering at the strange feeling in his chest as he looked upon her anguish. There was pleasure that he'd affected her so strongly, but there was something else mixed in, a small, trembling feeling that made him feel almost queasy. He withdrew his hand from her body and the queasy feeling went away as Lisa visibly relaxed.

Jackson took a deep breath, unconsciously mimicking the one Lisa took as he moved away from her slightly. "I saw you do other things too," he went on, verbally moving them away from the dangerous area. He cast about for something else to talk about, for the moment unable to think about anything other than those times when he saw Lisa touching herself.

"I saw... I saw you..." He angled his body away from her so that she wouldn't feel how much those images excited him and cleared his suddenly dry throat. At last he hit on an incident that she should find embarrassing, but not threatening. "I saw you standing in front of a mirror in your pajamas. You had one of those pillows from your living room, and I watched you slide it up under your top, seeing how you would look if you were pregnant."

Lisa made a small sound that Jackson didn't quite understand. He continued, "I wondered about that too, Leese. Why would a career-minded girl like you care about something like that? Feeling your biological clock ticking maybe? Or maybe you-"

"Stop it!" Lisa burst out, a sob catching in her throat. "Just stop. I don't... don't..."

To Jackson's surprise, Lisa, strong-willed, self-contained Lisa, began to cry in earnest, pleading with him, "Please... please stop... please..."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, for once at a total loss for words. What in God's name had gotten into Lisa? The threat of rape didn't break her, but wanting a baby did? Unless-

"Whose is it?" he snarled, grabbing her face and forcing her to look him in the eye, "Keefe's? _Whose_?"

In response, Lisa just cried harder, trying to twist her head out of his brutal grip.

"Answer me!" he nearly screamed, sick with rage at the thought that Lisa- _his_ Lisa- could be carrying another man's child. He shook her, his own restraint job preventing him from moving her too much.

Frustrated and furious, Jackson sprang from the bed, pacing the room. "You bitch!" he ranted at her, "You miserable slut, how could you-"

'How could a woman too tense about sex to even masturbate possibly be pregnant?' Jackson's logical brain finally caught up to his boiling emotions. He froze, thinking hard. 'She would have said something. When I was throwing her around she would have brought it up to try and get me to stop.'

Anger draining out of him, Jackson sat down on the edge of the mattress which was shaking with Lisa's sobs. He wiped a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. Reaching out, he pressed a cool hand to her forehead, feeling her overheated skin. He cupped her face, using his thumb to brush away as many tears as he could.

Eventually, Lisa quieted under his gentle ministrations. Jackson continued to stroke her face as she cried herself out, her head dropping limply back onto the pillow. Feeling unaccountably tender, he ran his fingers through her hair, working out the tangles as he spoke quietly, "It was the rape, wasn't it?"

Jackson continued, not really expecting an answer, "You got pregnant when..." he trailed off. "I'm guessing you got rid of it."

Lisa nodded weakly, looking too tired to fight him anymore.

"It was the right thing to do," he assured her. When she didn't respond, he called her name softly, "Lisa..."

When she turned her head, Jackson caught her gaze, looking at her seriously, "I promise you one thing," he told her in a low, rough voice, "I'm going to find him. And when I do, I'm going to kill him."

At first, he didn't think she was going to respond. It didn't matter whether she did or not. Jackson had never willingly broken a promise; he didn't think he'd ever made one

he was so strongly committed to either.

Finally, so softly that he barely heard her, Lisa whispered, "Thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

Jackson wasn't quite sure what to do with her after that. The torture scene he'd mentally choreographed wasn't going anything like he'd imagined it. He thrived on her fear, but at the same time, he couldn't quite bring himself to actually carry out his threats.

After he made his promise, Jackson sat quietly on the bed, watching Lisa. She met his eyes for a long moment before her own drifted shut. It wasn't until her breathing deepened that he realized she'd fallen asleep.

No, this wasn't going at all as he'd planned.

He was exhausted too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt as out of control as he did around Lisa. Even though he refused to let his wildly careening emotions frighten him, they did manage to tire him out. Perhaps it was retribution.

Considering Lisa's form, Jackson finally made a decision. He untied her left wrist, gently bringing her arm to rest at her side. In her sleep, Lisa moaned as he manipulated the frozen limb. Leaving his clothes on, Jackson lay down in the newly-created space beside her, trying to decide how he was going to secure her now. After a few moments of experimentation, he rolled her onto her right side toward her still-bound arm and pressed himself in behind her. He wrapped his arm around her body, lacing the fingers of their left hands together.

He told himself it was just to keep her from lashing out or escaping if she woke before he did.

Jackson closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her soft body pressed against his, the sweet scent of her hair as it tickled his face. For the first time in years, he dreamt not of blood or darkness, but of flowers.

A relentless beeping woke him out of a sound sleep some hours later. Jackson, coming to full alertness almost instantly, took a moment to identify the irritating noise. Lisa's cell phone, he realized, noticing that the sun was already up. It was probably Cynthia wanting to know where she was.

He hurried into the living room, digging the phone out of her abandoned purse just as it stopped ringing. Cursing, he strode back into the bedroom, unceremoniously pulling Lisa onto her back.

He leapt back just in time to avoid a downward strike with the knife he'd left by the bed the previous night. Jackson cursed himself for his stupidity as Lisa swung at him with a scream of rage. The blade barely missed his arm as it buried itself to the hilt in the mattress. That would have been a very nasty hit, he noted.

Lisa swore in frustration at her missed opportunity as Jackson grabbed her wrist, tying it back to the headboard. For a moment he regarded the knife's resting place, still quivering in the bed, before pulling it out effortlessly.

"That," he told her dryly, "wasn't a very smart thing to do, Lisa."

He held up her cell phone. "And here I was all ready to let you talk to your friend Cynthia." He clicked his tongue in reprimand. "It's a shame you had to go and be a bad girl. We were getting along so well."

"Let me go, Jackson, she demanded quietly, struggling with the ropes.

"It's strange, but I just don't see that happening," he remarked casually as he double-checked the knots on her other wrist. "You see, Leese, I have big plans for you."

Although she narrowed her eyes, she didn't ask what he meant. Perhaps she'd learned her lesson about asking questions on the plane.

"You see," Jackson said cheerfully as he sat down next to her on the bed, "I _was_ going to kill you last night."

Lisa didn't even bother to look surprised.

"But then I had a better idea," he went on, making his decision as he spoke, "I thought that it would be much more effective for you to learn your lesson a different way."

He paused dramatically, waiting for her to ask.

A minute of silence passed. Then two. Jackson kept his eyes locked on Lisa's, willing her to break down and question him. After several minutes, the tension in the room progressed from uncomfortable to nearly unbearable. He was shocked by how much he missed the spitfire who'd tried to stab him only minutes before. This quiet Lisa was no fun at all.

"You're going to come with me when I kill Keefe."

Lisa's eyes went wide at that statement, but instead of screaming at him, she simply clenched her jaw. Annoyed now, Jackson goaded her, "If you'd just done what I asked on the plane, he would have died quickly; he would never even have known what was happening. But you just couldn't do that, could you?"

On a roll now, Jackson barreled on, "So thanks to you, Keefe's going to die slowly. And you're going to watch every minute of it. You're going to watch as I peel the skin off his body. And you're going to watch while I do it to his wife. And while they're screaming in agony, you're going to know that their torture is all your fault."

When Lisa still refused to be baited by his violent words, Jackson went for broke, "And maybe it would be better if I didn't tell you what I'm going to do to the children. Maybe I should let that little treat be a surprise."

It wasn't a lie, he justified to himself. It _would_ surprise her when he killed the children quickly and humanely, but the taunt had had the desired effect, Lisa's eyes flashed dangerously at him as she said in a low tone, "You're a monster."

"Maybe," he agreed easily, "but in this case, you're the one who built the monster. Now what does that make you?"

Confident that he'd won their battle of wills, Jackson tossed Lisa's cell phone from hand to hand, "Shall we see who called you?"

Without waiting for a reply, he raised the phone to his ear, automatically punching the buttons that would bring up her voicemail. To his surprise, he was greeted not by Cynthia's nervous squeak, but by a decidedly masculine voice.

"Lisa? Hey, it's Tom. I thought we had plans last night, but you kinda... didn't show up. Anyway, I was just checking to see if you were all right. I hope I didn't do anything to offend you before, because I really do like you. Aw, crap, this is getting kind of pathetic, isn't it? Anyway, give me a call back when you get a chance, maybe we just missed connections somewhere. Bye."

Jackson dropped the phone onto the bed and turned to stare at Lisa, eyebrows raised. "Is there something you haven't been telling me, Leese?" he asked in a deceptively calm tone.

Rolling her eyes, Lisa shrugged as best she could.

"_Tom_, Lisa," he prompted her with exaggerated patience, "Who is Tom?"

She stared up at him coldly, refusing to answer.

Jackson grabbed her chin and dug his fingers into the soft flesh under her jaw line. Lisa flinched in pain, but maintained her silence. Her composure in the face of his turbulent emotions was the last straw for Jackson.

"You do _not_ want to play this game with me," he hissed, leaning down so that his face was only millimeters from hers. He tightened his grip, digging his fingers painfully into her vulnerable skin. "Tell me who he is or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" Lisa's voice was muffled by his grip on her neck, but her bored tone was unmistakable. "Kill me? I don't think so."

Her words surprised him enough to let her go, although he remained pressed against her.

"You're not going to kill me," Lisa said with utmost certainty. "You're not going to rape me either."

"I wouldn't be so certain-"

"Oh shut up, Jackson," Lisa huffed in annoyance. "I'm getting bored with your empty threats."

His mouth opened, desperate to contradict her. Yet the truth of her words struck him. If he'd learned anything from the previous night, it was that, for whatever reason, he didn't want to damage her too badly. At least not yet. How in the hell had she known that though?

"I've been watching you," Lisa went on, as though she had overheard his thoughts, "You rant and you rave and you leave bruises, but you've had me tied up here for- what?- eight hours now? More? And you haven't done a damn thing except threaten. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now."

Jackson actually sat back, stunned by her perceptiveness. He'd underestimated her greatly. She'd been so off-balance on the plane that he'd assumed he would easily maintain the upper hand here. Yet in a matter of seconds, Lisa had taken total control of the situation even though she was the one tied up and he was the one with the knife.

Lisa laughed softly at the expression on his face. "I've got you, don't I? I'm in your head now. Face it, I've got you figured out. And I bet I know why you got so angry when you thought I was pregnant."

"You wanna know who Tom is, Jackson?" she drawled. "He's my new boyfriend. He's a cop. I met him when I gave my statement against you." She tilted her head to the side as if she was thinking hard. "I guess you could say that you're the one who brought us together."

Before he was even aware he was moving, Jackson had grabbed the knife and brought it to her throat. He watched himself pressing the blade to her neck, seeing the dent it made in her delicate skin. There was a burning sensation in his chest, blocking out all thought except the knowledge that he had to make her _stop_. His hand trembled as he pressed the edge of the blade to her throat. Just a little more pressure and Lisa would never be able to torment him like this again. He'd be free of the unfaithful bitch, once and for all.

His hand stayed frozen where it was, ignoring his mind's frantic commands to push further, to slice her open, give her what she deserved. Jackson ground his teeth, breathing heavily as he willed himself to finish this, to slit the whore's throat.

He couldn't do it.

Disgusted with himself, Jackson withdrew the blade, tossing the knife to the floor. This time he made sure it was well out of reach of the bed.

Lisa let out her breath on a long, slow exhale. "Didn't like hearing that, did you, Jackson?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse from her bruised throat. The mocking tone was still clear. "You didn't come back for revenge."

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, trying to look politely curious about what the crazy woman was getting at. The sheen of perspiration on his face and the lines of strain around his eyes didn't let him pull off the effect.

"You want me," Lisa said in an unreadable tone, "Don't you, Jackson?"

The truth of her words hit him like a physical blow, driving all of the air out of his lungs. He _did_ want her, he realized, only now fully admitting it to himself. Everything changed in that moment, but at the same time, nothing did. He wanted her body and her spirit, true, but he wanted her pain too. In a way, he wanted to hurt her more now than he ever had, now that he realized just how thoroughly she'd shattered his safe, comfortable, emotionless world.

Lisa must have seen something in his expression that confirmed her suspicions, because she said almost sadly, "I thought so."

She visibly steeled herself for what she was about to say. "In that case, I have a deal to offer you."

"Oh?" Jackson asked, that small syllable all he could manage. Lisa stared up at him, chewing on the corner of her lip nervously, evidently waiting for him to say more. He didn't. Finally, she made her offer.

"In exchange for the lives of Keefe and his family... you can have me."


	8. Chapter 8

At first, Jackson wasn't sure that he'd heard her correctly. She'd lapsed into silence again as she watched his face, waiting for his response to her offer.

He didn't know what to think. It would be the height of foolishness to trust her. Yet, they couldn't stay in this bedroom for the rest of their lives, and nothing else seemed liable to shake loose. She wasn't going to suddenly decide that she was sick of being a good girl and become Loeb to his Leopold. Nor did it seem likely that he would be working up the willpower to kill her anytime soon. And he wasn't about to simply let her go.

"What, exactly, do you mean, Lisa?" he asked her carefully, stalling for time.

He ignored the dirty look she shot him and listened carefully to her words. "I'll... do what you want. You know... Go to bed with you."

Her utterly resigned tone didn't do wonders for his ego. Still, maybe this was what he needed. Maybe he could get her out of his system once and for all. Once he'd had her and proved that she was no more special than any other woman, he could kill her with no hesitation. After all, he'd known plenty of women more beautiful, more charming, and more willing than Lisa Reisert. It was the challenge that attracted him, not her.

Jackson told himself this so confidently that he almost believed it.

"It sounds like you want an awful lot in exchange for one night, Leese," he told her, thinking out loud. "Keefe and his family in exchange for a few hours with you. I'm not sure I'm getting a fair deal."

He'd have to rethink his way back into the Center if he accepted her offer. Killing Keefe was his ticket back in. Then again, if he got Lisa out of his system and killed her first, his promise would be voided by her death.

Jackson didn't lie, but he was a master of equivocation.

If he did that, he'd still get his job back; it would just be postponed for a little while. He could live with that; he'd consider it a well-earned vacation. The Center's client had wanted Keefe dead before the upcoming election. That meant Jackson had nearly a month to carry out his plan. Plenty of time to cure his fascination with Lisa.

Lisa was still glaring at him for his last comment when he smiled down at her, feeling more lighthearted. He'd made his decision. "I have a counteroffer," he told her.

Raising an eyebrow, Lisa asked, "Yes?"

"A few hours with your body in exchange for four lives is a bit much to ask."

"So, what do you propose?" she asked stiffly.

"You can have what you want," he said slowly, relishing her nervous look, "But I want something more than what you're offering."

"Which is?" She was getting tense, nearly spitting her words. Jackson was pleased to see it. It meant that he was regaining some control.

"You stay with me." Her soft brown eyes filled with worry, and Jackson absently rubbed his chest, annoyed that the queasy feeling had suddenly returned.

Lisa's voice was barely audible when she asked, "For how long?"

He shrugged, "Until I get tired of you." He didn't allow himself to wonder how long that might take.

Despair was written plainly on Lisa's face, but she didn't argue with him. She simply nodded briefly and said, "Deal."

Jackson was a bit surprised by how easy it was. He'd expected her to put up much more of a fight; he was almost disappointed in her. As he reached for the ropes that bound her hands, a thought occurred to him and he paused, looking down at her menacingly. "If you try to renege," he began carefully, "the deal's off."

"And that means no running, no trying to contact anyone, and no attacking me. Are we clear?" His mouth quirked with amusement when he saw Lisa's shoulders slump. So, she hadn't been as compliant as she'd wanted him to believe.

"You try anything like that," he continued, "And I'll take out the Keefes, you, and anyone else who happens to piss me off."

Confident that he'd covered all the bases, Jackson untied Lisa, choosing to ignore the way she moved as far away from him as she could as she massaged the feeling back into her numb hands. He'd have plenty of time to deal with that later.

He gave her a moment to compose herself, then walked to the bedroom door, pausing to call back to her, "All right, let's go."

Lisa stared at him in silence for a long moment. "Please," he said in amusement, "You didn't really think we'd be staying here, did you? In Miami where it would be so easy for you to reach your family?"

From the look on her face, Jackson could tell that Lisa had been thinking just that.

"Where are we going?" she asked, finding her voice.

"You'll see," he told her mysteriously, pleased beyond words to have the upper hand once more. The off-balance Lisa he could handle. It was the quiet, perceptive Lisa who gave him problems.

"I promised not to contact anyone," she reminded him, still not joining him in the doorway.

Jackson held an arm out to her cheerfully, encouraging her to approach him. "Yes, but why put temptation in your path?" he asked, his eyes going flinty when she dodged his touch and edged past him into the living room. He tilted his head and looked down his nose at her as he followed her into the other room. "A bit foolish, considering the deal we just made."

She shrugged, toying with the buttons on her blouse. As he watched her, he noticed her puzzled frown as she tried to fasten the upper ones. "What did you do to my shirt?"

Warmth rose in his face at the question. He shoved her purse into her hands, mumbling a quick, "Nothing." Lisa raised politely disbelieving eyebrows and stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, before she allowed herself to be led out of the apartment.

When the elevator arrived to take them down to the ground floor, Jackson had to stifle a groan. The burly man from the previous evening was already onboard. From his nervous expression, he clearly remembered Jackson as well.

The man cleared his throat repeatedly and pressed himself as far into the back corner of the elevator as his bulky body would allow. Jackson sighed and led Lisa on, keeping himself between her and his neighbor. As they waited for the doors to close again, he wrapped an arm around her waist possessively. When she stiffened at the contract, he squeezed tighter, reminding her wordlessly to behave herself.

"So... how's the head this morning?" their companion asked Lisa in a falsely hearty tone. Lisa, unaware of the excuse Jackson had given for her, didn't even blink.

"Bet you're wishing, you'd quit when you were ahead, right?" the man plowed on, sounding a bit desperate. "Your hubby here said you'd had a few too many..."

When Lisa raised accusing eyes to his, Jackson slowly turned his head to stare the man down. He went silent immediately.

"She's fine," Jackson bit out.

When the doors opened, the man made a run for it, manners be damned. Jackson had a feeling that he wouldn't be seeing him again. Lucky for him. Jackson might not have to kill him after all.

"You told him I was drunk?" Lisa asked in disbelief as he guided her out of the building and to the Mercedes.

"What would you have liked me to say?" Jackson retorted as he opened the passenger door for her.

"Well, not that! _And_ you told him I was your _wife_."

"It sounded better than saying you were my prisoner," Jackson shot back and immediately regretted it when she again fell silent. Wait a minute... For a moment there, Lisa had sounded almost lighthearted. Had she been _teasing_ him?

Wondering if he could get her to do it again, Jackson hazarded, "I told him some other things too."

To his disappointment, Lisa didn't take the bait. Instead she rifled through her purse, looking irritated when she realized that he'd kept her cell phone. "I'm going to have to tell people something so they don't come looking for me. And I need clothes."

Dammit, she was right. Jackson sighed in frustration at how slowly he seemed to be thinking. He slammed into the driver's seat and started the car. Had he really expected to just grab her and go? Why was nothing ever easy with this woman?

He peeled out of the parking space faster than he should have, leaving Lisa grabbing the arm rest, convinced of an imminent crash. As they left the garage, she turned her head quickly and exclaimed, "Hey! Is that my car?"

"Yes."

They didn't say a word for the rest of the short drive. Jackson pulled to a stop outside Lisa's apartment building, keeping his finger on the 'Lock' button while he gave her her marching orders.

"Airport. Fresh Air terminal. Two hours. Pack light."

"What are you-"

He didn't let her finish her question. "If you tell anyone what's really going on... You know what will happen."

She nodded, eyes serious.

Knowing he was making a mistake even as he acted, Jackson unlocked the door and waved her out of the car. Lisa took off without looking back.

He stared after her until she was long out of sight, wondering what had gotten into him. As soon as she got into her apartment, she'd use the land line to tell her father, or Cynthia, or the police, or all three exactly what was going on. The minute he walked into the terminal, he'd be surrounded by enough law enforcement to take down the entire Center, not just one man. He'd handed her the win.

In a way, he almost welcomed the thought. He wasn't enough of a masochist to want to be captured, but he wanted Lisa to show her true colors. He wanted proof that she was the kind of woman who would renege on a deal, who couldn't be trusted. He needed to see proof that she wasn't as pure and good as she pretended to be. Maybe if he saw her as she truly was, he'd be able to dismiss her at last.

It was a dangerous gamble to take just for some peace of mind, but Jackson reminded himself that no police custody would hold him for long, even without the Center's resources. It would be worth a few days of trouble to get Lisa out of his head.

Because if she didn't renege, he had the sick feeling that he wouldn't be getting tired of her. Ever.


	9. Chapter 9

Jackson had plenty to occupy his mind during the two hours he'd given Lisa. He moved her car somewhere where it wouldn't be found, withdrew the rest of the cash and his passport from his safe deposit box, and packed his own things for the trip. Just because he was ninety-five percent certain that he was about to be arrested didn't mean that it wasn't smart to make allowances for the other five percent.

He paused outside the airline terminal, letting harried passengers brush by him on their never-ending quest to be somewhere else. Expert eyes scouted for the telltale signs of police, but he saw nothing more than the usual power-hungry security guards. He took a breath, reluctant to face what would undoubtedly come next, and stepped into the busy terminal.

Jackson spotted Lisa almost immediately. She'd changed out of the shirt he'd damaged, exchanging it for the white, V-neck top she'd worn on their momentous flight- God, was it really less than a month ago? He was sure the clothing choice symbolized something, but he didn't want to guess what it could be.

He walked towards her slowly, taking the bait. She sat quietly, a picture of serenity in the midst of chaos. With every step he took, Jackson waited for the trap to spring around him.

It wasn't until he was standing in front of her, looking down into her inscrutable eyes, that Jackson fully realized that he was safe. No hunter, no matter how inexperienced, would give the prey time to actually reach the bait before going in for the kill. If they were going to descend on him, they'd have done it before he had a chance to take a hostage.

Lisa had kept her promise.

He held his hand out to her wordlessly. Lisa watched him for an endless moment before placing her fingers in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet. "Ready?" he asked rhetorically.

"Can't wait," she murmured dryly in reply. He couldn't help but notice the nervous look she shot over her shoulder towards the check-in counter as he shouldered her bag. No doubt the idea of being on a plane with him again so soon was bringing back all kinds of memories that she'd rather forget.

Good. That was why he'd chosen the airport as their rendezvous point in the first place.

Jackson craved Lisa's fear, needed it. He didn't know how to describe what he felt for Lisa or what her ultimate place in his life would be, but he knew that whatever his feelings were, they were intense enough to make his mouth dry and his breath sharp whenever he looked at her. If she could make him feel so strongly about her, he would accept nothing less in return. He needed her to be as consumed as he was.

And there was no emotion more powerful than fear.

On his way to Lisa's apartment, Jackson had made a decision. He'd been out of control in the bedroom with her. He'd mocked himself for his lack of detachment at first, then realized that it would work in his favor. There was no better way to keep Lisa nervous and off-balance than to make sure she never knew what to expect from him. Starting now, that would be his focus. Without another word, he took her arm and ushered her out of the terminal. Anyone watching them would be impressed by what a gentleman he was, no doubt mistaking them for a pair of newlyweds.

When they reached the main entrance to the terminal, Jackson felt Lisa's eyes on him. "We're not... flying?" she asked hesitantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Disappointed?"

"Surprised," she responded in a curt tone, but her step seemed lighter as he led her outside. Excellent. They were off to a perfect start. The more comfortable she was now, the more dismayed she would be later when things began to fall apart for her. She wouldn't get the best of him again.

He opened the door of the Mercedes for her, tossed her bag into the trunk and took his own place behind the wheel. As she leaned over to retrieve her seat belt, he stepped on the gas and swerved out of the space, knocking her head firmly against the window. Jackson stifled a chuckle as Lisa rubbed the sore spot and glared at him. It was childish thing to do, but- oh well.

"Sorry," he said lightly.

"Yeah, sure," she muttered in reply, sinking into a sulky silence.

They drove for nearly an hour without saying another word, letting the turnpike lull them into a pleasant languor. It wasn't until Lisa caught sight of the massive bridge stretching out before them that she took an interest in their whereabouts. "Where are we going?"

"Where does it look like?" he parried.

"Key West?" she guessed, choosing the most commonly-visited location along the bridge.

"Too many tourists."

"Key Largo?"

"Ecology nuts."

"Key..." she hesitated, trying to think of another one of the Keys. "I could have sworn there were more of them."

Jackson surprised them both by laughing out loud at the remark. It was an honest laugh, containing no threats or mockery, just genuine good humor. "Big Pine Key," he told her indulgently, rewarding her self-deprecating remark.

"Big Pine?" Lisa asked him, puzzled. "What do they have there?"

"A hotel with a very understanding manager. Screams don't much faze him."

Lisa shot him a startled look, then carefully examined his expression, no doubt hoping for a sign that he was joking. Jackson made sure she didn't find one.

"Okay then," she said softly, returning her gaze to the passing scenery and saying nothing further.

Jackson smirked at her as they drove on. Things were going much better now. He should have just done this in the first place.

The pair didn't exchange another word until they pulled into the secluded hotel's parking lot over two hours later. "We're here," Jackson told Lisa unnecessarily, stepping out the car and waiting for her to join him. Lisa took her time, stretching her arms over her head and adjusting her skirt before she walked around to his side of the car.

Irritated by her stalling, he took a firm grip on her hand. To outsiders, it would look as though he were nothing more than a protective boyfriend. Only Lisa felt her knuckles cracking in his tight hold. Pulling her along in his wake, he walked into the hotel's cozy lobby and gave the middle-aged man behind the desk a charming smile. "Erik! It's nice to see you again."

The man raised his head in surprised pleasure. "Ian! It's been years! I thought you'd left us permanently."

"Never," Jackson said easily, ignoring Lisa's penetrating look. He jiggled their clasped hands and shouldered her forward a step. "May I introduce my wife, Lily?"

Erik's face lit up with genuine happiness at his friend's perceived good fortune, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lily."

Lisa smiled back, murmuring something polite, as Jackson moved onto business. "Is my usual room available?"

"You're in luck," Erik replied, handing him a key, "It was just vacated this morning." He glanced down at the key in good-natured surprise, "Oh, what am I doing? You'll need both keys this time, won't you, Ian?"

"No, no," Jackson overrode him smoothly, "Just one will be fine." He wrapped an arm around Lisa, smiling down at her. "I don't plan to let her out of my sight."

Erik laughed in return and waved them on their way, "Newlyweds!"

Jackson let the smile drop as they walked back outside. As he escorted Lisa back to the car, he gestured to the greenery around them. "As you may have noticed, there's nothing around here by wilderness," he told her cheerfully. "Other than Erik, the only things that live around here are alligators, mosquitos, and really big spiders. If you decide to be a bad girl and run off, you'd better hope I'm the scariest thing that finds you."

Looking subdued, Lisa nodded and allowed herself to be seated in the car once again. The drive along the ramshackle hotel took less than two minutes as Jackson parked outside the last room on the furthest wing from the lobby.

"After you," he handed Lisa the room key and retrieved their luggage from the trunk as she unlocked room 184.

Following her inside, Jackson smirked at Lisa's stifled gasp as she got a look at the room. Unassuming as the hotel's exterior might be, Erik put enough care into the rooms' interiors to rival the Lux Atlantic. The bright room contained a stylish table and chairs near a kitchenette. Beyond the eating area, an overstuffed couch faced a large, flat-screened TV. Well-tended plants filled the space, lending a homey feel.

Jackson maneuvered a gaping Lisa through a doorway beyond the living area, into a bedroom, dominated by a king-sized bed with an olive green coverlet. He tossed their luggage onto the bed and opened up Lisa's case, rummaging through it to make sure she hadn't brought anything along that could serve as a weapon. Finding nothing, he smirked at her, "Why don't you get us unpacked while I find us some dinner?"

Lisa opened her mouth, no doubt to retort that she wasn't a maid and didn't appreciate being treated like one. Jackson raised his eyebrows and let his suit jacket fall slightly open, revealing a wicked-looking knife. Lisa closed her mouth. "Fine," she bit off.

"Good girl," he said patronizingly, hiding a smile as he left the room. Yes, he definitely should have just done this in the first place. Their little road trip was already shaping up to be much more fun than his ill-executed kidnapping plan and it wasn't even bedtime yet.

Jackson checked his watch and looked impatiently out the window, willing the sun to go down.


	10. Chapter 10

Later that night, Jackson sat on the edge of the sofa, watching Lisa with amusement as she paced around the room. "You're going to wear holes in the carpet," he told her lightly.

So far, she'd cleaned up their dinner dishes, which hadn't taken long since they'd had take-out Chinese, arranged all the curtains in the room to her liking, and watered all the plants, including the silk ones. Now she seemed to have run out of chores to do, but she was looking desperately for something else to keep her occupied. Anything that would put off what was coming next.

Jackson rose, walked over to Lisa and placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stop. "Lisa."

"What?" she snapped, refusing to look up at him.

"Stop," he told her firmly, taking her chin in his hand and raising her face to his.

Her eyes darted away for a moment, before meeting his challengingly. "This is my job."

"No, this is Erik's job. We're not in the Lux Atlantic or hadn't you noticed?" Lisa stayed silent, but the glare she shot him was nearly as sharp as the pen she'd impaled him with. Jackson ignored it. "Your job is to relax, enjoy yourself, and do whatever I say."

Impossibly, the heat from her glare increased. "Now," he told her cheerfully, impulsively leaning down to kiss her forehead, "Go get ready for bed."

Lisa raised a hand to her face, perhaps to childishly wipe at the spot he'd dared to touch, but at his warning look, dropped it before she could complete the movement. "We have a _deal_, Leese," he reminded her.

At that, her shoulders slumped a little. "'All right," she whispered, stepping around him to head for the bedroom.

"Hey." As she walked past him, Jackson grabbed her upper arm, forcing her to stop. "Is it really going to be that bad?" He was aiming for a light, mocking tone, but what came out sounded almost pleading.

Eyes locked on his, Lisa backed away slowly, pulling herself out of his unresisting grasp. Without a word, she retreated into the bedroom.

'Stupid!' Jackson cursed himself as Lisa left the room. What in the hell was going on with him? Why should he even care what she thought about the deal they'd made? Wasn't it better that she was nervous about going to bed with him? It meant that she was still afraid of him, still as overcome by him as he was by her.

Feeling slightly more confident, Jackson walked into the bedroom, shedding his jacket and tie and unfastening the top two buttons of his white shirt. He sat down on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes as he listened to Lisa running water in the bathroom. His body responded as he pictured her removing her sensible clothes, replacing them with something more seductive, something he could peel off as he traced her scar with his tongue...

"Get a fucking grip!" he hissed to himself, the words sounding shockingly loud in the silent room. This wasn't personal, wasn't romantic. It was a business transaction, pure and simple. She got to imagine she was saving the Keefes with her noble sacrifice, and he got to cure his curiosity about her. Nothing more.

Jackson was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Lisa had entered the room until she cleared her throat, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Far from the slinky nightgown he'd been picturing, she was wearing pajamas, satiny ones. With flamingos on them.

He stared at her wordlessly, trying to reconcile the no-nonsense Lisa who'd outwitted him on more than one occasion with the woman standing in front of him wearing pajamas with flamingos on them. Try as he might, he couldn't quite fit the two images together.

"Oh, come on," Lisa said, trying to break the tension in the room, "You've certainly seen what I sleep in before."

"Never got close enough to see the pattern," he responded automatically. As she stepped closer, he noticed that some of the flamingos were smiling at him.

Lisa continued to watch him, apparently waiting for him to take control of the situation. When he didn't say anything more, she sat down next to him on the bed, not quite close enough to touch. "Well," she said in a choked voice, "Shall we get on with it?"

As he watched, she leaned back on her hands, lying down on the bed. Her pajama top rode up as she moved, exposing her taut abdomen. Barely aware that he was moving, Jackson rested his hand on the smooth skin revealed to his eyes. Lisa inhaled sharply at the contact, and he looked up at her face, disappointed, but not surprised, to see her flinch.

He left his hand where it was, his mind inexorably drawn to her rape, as he was sure her own thoughts were. As he watched his hand rise and fall with her shallow breathing, he thought about what she'd inadvertently revealed to him back at his apartment. For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to imagine his own child sheltered within her, growing, changing her body, marking her as his to anyone who looked at her...

"What are you doing?" Her whispered words brought him out of his fantasy. Jackson withdrew his hand and rubbed absently at his chest, irritated that the queasiness he'd had at the apartment was back. He wondered briefly if he was old enough to have a heart attack, then dismissed the concern as the sick feeling faded away.

"Shhhh..." he whispered to her, "Just relax, Leese."

His soothing words had the opposite effect. Lisa fidgeted under the weight of his gaze. "Just get on with it," she murmured querulously, keeping her eyes closed.

"I told you to be quiet," he reminded her in a firmer tone.

"Then get it over with!" she exclaimed, shifting uncomfortably.

Feeling unaccountably stung by her words, Jackson lashed out, "I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you, Lisa. But since this is the most I've ever paid for a whore, kindly shut up and let me get my money's worth."

Lisa sat straight up, eyes blazing, and used her feet to push herself away from him. "How dare you!"

Grabbing her ankles, Jackson yanked her flat and promptly straddled her, pinning her in place. "Don't like hearing the truth, Leese? And here I thought you were such an honest person."

Lisa struggled beneath him, managing to do nothing more than rub herself against him in a most pleasing way. "You bastard," she snarled, "I should-"

Before she could finish her threat, he had her by the throat, pulling her out from underneath him. Not relinquishing his hold on her neck, he snapped, "You should shut up and play the part you've written for yourself, my little whore. You're selling your body to get something you want. What would you call it?"

"You're a monster," she hissed.

"And you're repeating yourself," he told her pleasantly. "If that didn't hurt me before, hearing it again isn't going to make it worse."

"Why you-"

As she opened her mouth to spit out another insult, Jackson brought his lips crashing down on hers, taking advantage of her conveniently open mouth to thrust his tongue past her teeth. Lisa beat uselessly at his chest with her fists until he grabbed her wrists, pinning her arms behind her. Through it all, he explored her mouth, ruthlessly exploiting her secrets. Lisa went limp in his grasp as he gentled his approach, coaxing her to respond to the brutal kiss. When he sensed that she was on the verge of blacking out from lack of oxygen, he pulled back, staring down into her glassy eyes as she gasped for breath.

Opening his mouth to say something snide, Jackson lost his train of thought at her dazed expression. Unconsciously, he licked his lower lip, taking a sharp breath of his own as he caught a trace of her flavor. Looking down, he noticed that her flamingos were still smiling happily at him. Fighting back an urge to pull her into his arms, to hold her and not let go, he cleared his throat several times, trying to find his voice.

"Go-" he broke off and cleared his throat again, banishing the husky note, "Go to sleep, Leese."

His words snapped Lisa out of her daze. "What?" she asked in puzzlement, "But I thought you wanted-"

"Go to _sleep_," he overrode her, rolling over so that his back was to her and switching off the bedside lamp. If she said anything more, anything at all, he'd be on her and he would be irrevocably lost. He needed to regroup, get his perspective back, remind himself that this was just business, for God's sake, and he really, _really_ needed to just calm down about all of this and get a fucking _grip_ already...

"Goodnight," she whispered from the other side of the bed, still sounding confused.

Jackson clenched his fists, willing himself to ignore the note of relief he'd heard in her voice. "Goodnight, Lisa."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this. I hope at least a few of you still remember this story. I'm really sorry. There was just something about this chapter that refused to be written. On the bright side, chapter twelve is coming along nicely. I'll try and get that up later tonight or tomorrow to try and make up for the long hiatus.

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_He sprinted down the stairs, counting each bounding step as he raced for the door. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight. The bus would be there in less than a minute and if he missed it again, there would be hell to pay. There was always hell to pay. Thirty-two, thirty- "Ouch!"_

_Yowling, his mother's fluffy white cat drove its claws into his calf, getting revenge for having its tail stepped on. Feline and boy collided as each tried to occupy the same space in their attempt to get away from each other. As the cat raced away, Jackson felt himself falling, cracking his head firmly against the bookshelf as the breath was forced out of his lungs. He hit the floor a split second before a small ceramic girl with an angelic expression did the same, shattering instantly._

_Struggling to refill his lungs, Jackson felt the familiar tightening of his chest that signaled the beginning of yet another asthma attack. He groped for his backpack, only to have it lifted out of his grasp as soon as he reached it. Between the pounding of his head and the rapidly-progressing ache in his chest, Jackson managed to focus on his mother standing over him, dressed in one of her impeccable camel-colored suits and holding his inhaler in a perfectly-manicured hand._

_"M-Mottth-" Jackson gasped, extending his hand for the precious apparatus. Instead of handing it to him, she simply looked down at him, eyebrow raised as she took in the sight of her wheezing son surrounded by ceramic shards. _

_"Honestly, Jack," she sighed, "that was one of my favorites."_

_"So... Sor... Sor-ry..."_

_"Oh please," she gave a brittle laugh. "You're always sorry. And yet nothing ever changes, does it, Jack? I truly don't know why I bother." Idly, she tossed the inhaler from one hand to the other._

_As she spoke, Jackson felt his lungs constrict further, cutting off the meager flow of air almost completely. Lips going numb, he held his shaking hand out again, desperate for relief._

_His mother glanced down at the piece of plastic in her hands as if seeing it for the first time. "Oh, you want this, don't you?"_

_He nodded, closing his eyes as the movement sent fresh sparks of pain shooting through his head. He could feel the world starting to get a little blurry around the edges, the same sense of unreality that took over whenever an attack went on too long._

_"I don't know, Jack," she told him. "Maybe we'd all be better off if I just hung onto this. I know I would be."_

_Sitting suddenly became too much of an effort. Jackson felt the cool wooden floor touch his cheek as his muscles refused to support him any longer._

_"Pathetic." The softly-spoken word came from somewhere above him._

_"Oh for God's sake, now you've made me late for work." He felt something hard bounce off his shoulder. "Here."_

_The soft click of high heels walking away pulled Jackson awake enough to reach for the inhaler again. He didn't have the energy to be surprised when his hand closed around it. Picking it up off the floor and placing it against his lips, he gagged on the bitter taste before mercifully feeling his chest begin to relax. For long minutes he simply lay there, relishing the sweet taste of fresh air. Eventually, he managed to stand up, head aching but feeling otherwise acceptable. The bus was long gone, as were his parents. Obviously, school was out of the question today. Holding tightly to the bannister, he made his way back upstairs to his bedroom, collapsing onto the unmade bed. He closed his eyes and buried his face in his pillow, trying to not remember the look on his mother's face as she'd watch him struggle for air. The telltale burn in his eyes and the back of his throat betrayed him, and he sunk his teeth viciously into his tongue, the sharp pain and metallic taste of blood distracting him._

_He held himself rigid, forcing himself to think of nothing more than the blood and darkness that surrounded him now._

_He must have slept then because the next thing he was aware of was gentle hands stroking his tense back, whispering his name, "Jackson... Jackson... wake up..."_

_Mother. Mother must be home. He was torn between wanting to obey her and wanting to simply lie there and enjoy the soft caress. When he was awake, he did nothing that pleased her. He'd stay asleep. He couldn't anger her then._

_"Jackson?" _

_He felt arms come around him then, holding him from behind. With a whimper, he rolled into them, seeking more of that wonderful comfort. He breathed in a scent that wasn't Mother's Clive Christian perfume, but that was still somehow familiar. The soft floral fragrance soothed him and he relaxed fully into the embrace, sinking into a deep, healing sleep._


	12. Chapter 12

Jackson woke slowly the next morning, the world refusing to come into focus as quickly as it usually did for him. Languidly, he opened his eyes, blinking in surprise as he found himself staring down at Lisa's soft curls.

Well, this was a pleasant surprise.

His arms were wrapped firmly around her, holding her tightly against him. Her arms were around his waist, and her head rested on his chest. Completely relaxed. Completely trusting.

He wondered what had brought this radical change about. The last time they'd spoken he'd called her a whore and threatened to rape her. He realized that might be a turn-on for some women, but he was damn sure that Lisa wasn't one of them.

His body tensed as remnants of his nightmare invaded his mind. Had he-? No. Although he dreamt of his childhood with depressing frequency, he'd long since trained himself to stop talking in his sleep. He'd had to. It was difficult to stalk someone when every time you fell asleep you'd either scream or start crying. At least the dream hadn't been of one of his worst memories.

With a vague sense of regret, he untangled himself from Lisa's embrace and got out of bed. As he finished dressing, he stared down at her sleeping form, unsmiling. She looked totally innocent in her sleep, the pink birds on her pajamas smiling happily at the world. He decided to blame the pajamas for what had happened the night before. She'd just looked too childlike in them, he told himself. Jackson didn't care for hurting children. That was the only reason he hadn't taken what she owed him.

Tonight, he'd make sure she didn't wear them. Then he'd collect his first payment.

As he watched her, Lisa stirred, then blinked up at him sleepily. He waited, a small part of himself bracing for the sight of her ever-present anger. It never came. Instead, the look she gave him was soft, full of something he couldn't identify. Not anger. Not hatred. Not fear. What the hell was it?

Was that pity in her gaze?

Oh Christ, no. Jackson stormed out of the room, slamming the bedroom door and prowling through the living area. His training had betrayed him. He'd cried out or said _something_ that gave his secret away. And now she knew. And she _pitied_ him.

Jackson despised pity. Pity was soft, weak. He wanted her fear, her rage, something hard and powerful and overwhelming. If she'd managed to turn his world inside out, the least she could do was goddamn well let him do the same to her, but no, he got her _pity_. He was intimidating, imposing, _frightening_, dammit! He was not to be pitied.

"Jackson?" He nearly jumped at the sound of her voice. Whirling around, he fixed her with a glare that stopped her in her tracks. She blinked at him a little, surprised, then shrugged it off and kept walking. He crossed his arms in front of him and kept glaring as she stopped in front of him. Whatever she was going to say, she seemed to rethink in the face of his death stare. "I'm hungry."

He stalked to the door to the suite and opened it, retrieving the tray of bagels and coffee Erik left outside every morning Jackson stayed at the hotel. He dropped the tray onto the table in front of Lisa, letting the thermos and mugs clatter. He was mildly disappointed that nothing broke.

"Thanks," Lisa said calmly, pouring each of them a cup of coffee and buttering a bagel for herself. She curled her feet under her on one of the chairs and eyed him curiously as he continued to glare at her. "Aren't you eating?"

"No."

"You ought to. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Jackson didn't bother to dignify that with a response.

She took a bite of her bagel and chewed slowly, savoring the taste, seemingly oblivious to him. After she finished the first half of the bagel, she looked up at him again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"It really helps sometimes."

"I'm not the one who needs a shrink," Jackson told her nastily. "Which one of us spent two years avoiding all men who weren't named Daddy?"

Lisa shrugged, not rising to it. "Tried it. Didn't like it." She smiled a little and said self-deprecatingly, "Probably didn't help that the psychiatrist was a man."

"And yet you trusted me," he taunted. "Not such a great judge of character, Leese."

She gave him an opaque look in return and shrugged again. "Maybe."

Jackson could feel his blood pressure rising in the face of her calm. "It's probably a good thing for you that I came back. With your luck with men, your new boyfriend Tom's probably a serial killer or a terrorist."

She considered his words. "I may have exaggerated when I called him my boyfriend."

"Oh really?" Jackson ignored the warm rush of pleasure he felt at her dismissal of Tom. "Decided the spinster route is the one for you? Going to spend the rest of your life as Daddy's Little Girl?"

Lisa took a sip of her coffee and smiled a little. "Apparently I'm going to spend the rest of my life stuck in a variety of strange places with you."

Tossing himself down into the chair across from her, Jackson said harshly, "The rest of your life? Hardly. Just until I get sick of you. And I doubt that will take too long."

Her smile widened, unnerving him. "Clearly," she replied in a dry tone.

He flushed a little as her words hit a bit too close to home. He hadn't really believed them either, but it would have helped tremendously if she had. He opened his mouth to insult her again, but Lisa cut him off before he could begin.

"You know, I told you about what happened to me." She gestured to the scar on her chest, currently covered by a flamingo. "It seems only fair for you to return the favor."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her flatly, his face going hard and blank. Most of the time, he didn't even let himself think about his past. There was no earthly way that he was going to share it with her of all people.

Finishing her coffee, Lisa said quietly, "If that's the way you want to play it, fine. But drop the "screw you" act, Jackson. I'm not falling for it." Without another word she left the table, deposited her cup in the sink and settled down in front of the TV, flipping through the channels as if she were home alone.

Jackson drank his own coffee, watching Lisa channel surf, apparently without a care in the world. By the time he finished, she'd decided on something and snuggled down into the sofa to watch. Irked by her casual behavior, he stalked over to join her on the couch, deciding that even though talking to her was irritating, having her ignore him was a hundred times worse. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table, ready to turn off whatever chick flick she'd decided on in favor of something more bloody before her choice in movies registered with him.

_Godzilla versus Mothra_. Jesus. There was something wonderfully strange about Lisa sometimes.

Catching sight of his dumbfounded expression, Lisa giggled, actually giggled. "Sometimes there's nothing that'll take your mind off your troubles better than a bunch of badly-dubbed Japanese children."

"And if that doesn't work there's always lousy special effects and a giant furry moth, right?" He tossed the remote back down.

"Exactly."

Jackson leaned against the arm of the sofa and propped his feet on the table before them. "What troubles could you possibly need to be distracted from, Leese?" he asked idly, fingering a lock of her hair. "You're on vacation. You're in a beautiful hotel with a handsome man..." his voice trailed off as Lisa started to laugh.

"With an ego problem. Who's tried to kill me numerous times," she finished for him.

Feigning hurt, Jackson pouted, "Don't you think I'm handsome?"

She laughed harder, telling the room at large, "Notice how he doesn't say anything about the ego. Or the attempted murder."

Jackson pounced, pinning her easily beneath him. Lisa's body went stiff, then relaxed as she realized his expression was playful, not homicidal. "Maybe I was just trying to get your attention."

She tilted her head back a little to look him in the eye. "There are easier ways than taking me hostage. How about asking me out?"

"You would've said no."

"Sending flowers?"

"Cliché."

"Buying me a drink?"

"I did."

"Oh," Lisa's voice trailed off, and she licked her lips. "That's right, you did."

Jackson's eyes dropped to her mouth, following the small, pink tip of her tongue as it darted out. "Don't..." he cleared his dry throat, "Don't you think I'm handsome, Leese?"

"Jackson..."

He wasn't sure what to make of her tone. It was a plea and a warning and a come on all at once. Or maybe he was imagining the come on part, but he wasn't sure he really cared. "I think you are very, very beautiful," he told her softly, "Your eyes, your hair, your skin..." Without really thinking about it, he ran his hand along her side, coming to rest lightly on the swell of her breast.

"Stop." The humor had gone out of Lisa's face, replaced by uncertainty and a hint of fear. His stomach twisted at the change in her expression, but Jackson couldn't quite bring himself to let her up. Not yet.

"Tell me you think I'm handsome." He needed to hear her say it. He needed to know that despite all her sighs and nerves and snide remarks, that she wouldn't really mind fulfilling her end of their bargain. Somehow he'd lost her fear and her anger, and he couldn't bear her indifference. Maybe he could have her lust. Lust was powerful, if not as strong as fear. He could make do with her lust.

"Let me up." Her voice was carefully controlled, and although he could see the fear in her eyes, he knew it wasn't really for him. It was for their position and for her memories, and it reminded him of his vow to kill the man who'd hurt her. It would be his gift to her.

"I will," he assured her, for some reason not wanting her to associate that particular fear with him. "But tell me first."

"Jackson..."

"Tell me, Lisa."

"I do," she whispered. "I think you're handsome. I thought so at the restaurant, and even after you... I still did."

He shifted against her, easing some of his weight off her so she wouldn't feel his arousal at her words. She relaxed a little as he did so, feeling less threatened. "Did you want me then, Leese?" he asked her huskily. "Did you think about giving me your phone number, asking me to call? Were you happy when you found out we were sitting together on the plane?"

"Yes," her eyes darkened at the memory, "But then you ruined everything." She pushed at his chest to make him move off her, and he went easily, pulling away and allowing her to sit up.

He retreated to his corner of the sofa, watching her draw her legs up in front of her and stare blankly at the TV screen, shutting him out.

"I..." He wasn't sure what to say next. 'I'm sorry'? He wasn't. If he hadn't done it, she would never have opened up to him. 'I didn't want to'? He had. He'd been so eager to prove himself to the Center that Lisa's feelings and his attraction to her had been a non issue. He settled on a truth he hoped she'd find palatable.

"At the restaurant... I pretended that I wouldn't have to." At least now she was looking at him again. "I hadn't gotten the go-ahead call. I pretended that something would come up, and they'd call off the job, and we'd just be able to... talk." God, that sounded stupid. No way was she going to believe that.

After a long moment, Lisa nodded. "Thank you."

"I still think you're beautiful, Leese," he told her quietly, hoping to cheer her up.

She smiled slightly, but said nothing else.


	13. Chapter 13

Wow, anyone remember this story? I won't be offended if you don't. Sorry about that; I've been suffering from writer's block from hell. Thank you everyone who's asked for more. You made this worth coming back to. On the bright side, I have the next six chapters outlined and a little contest coming up in a future chapter, so stayed tuned. Chapter fourteen won't be nearly as long of a wait as thirteen was. Hope you enjoy!

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After _Godzilla versus Mothra_ ended, which in truth they hadn't really seen much of, the station switched to _Godzilla versus the Smog Monster_ which was rapidly proving to be even more poorly- made. In other words, it was perfect for their current states of mind. Lisa hadn't said a word since his confession, and Jackson was having to fight back to urge to put an arm around her and try to regain some of the ground he seemed to have lost over the past few hours.

The thought disturbed him, and he stood up abruptly, needing to be somewhere that Lisa was not. She disrupted his thought processes, made it impossible for him to focus on what was truly important: regaining his position at the Center.

"I wouldn't consider going anywhere," he informed her coldly, and she didn't even blink at the harsh tone. Instead, looking up at him with a faint smile, she said she'd see him later, then went back to the movie, apparently without a care in the world.

Nettled, he slammed out of the room, avoiding the lobby, not wanting to have to make polite conversation with anyone. Getting into the car, he set off along the meandering roads past scenery that would be beautiful to anyone with a thing for heavy vegetation and mosquitos, neither of which appealed to him.

What _was_ it about Lisa? he asked himself. Sure, she was smart, beautiful and interesting, but in his line of work he met a lot of smart, beautiful and interesting women. None of them had ever made him lose his composure the way Lisa did.

So, what did she have that those other women lacked? She wasn't the first to challenge him, although she'd been the first to defeat him. She hadn't really defeated him though, he justified to himself. It wasn't so much that she'd won but that he'd lost.

It was her vulnerability, it had to be. The vulnerability that she somehow managed to turn into an indomitable strength. She'd used it on the plane to gain the upper hand, and she was still using it, not to make him feel guilty about what he was doing but as a symbol of her self-assurance.

'This is who I am,' she was telling him. 'We both know what happened; we both know what it did to me, and I'm not going to try to hide it. This is me- cracks, scars, and all.'

Any other woman would try to hide her broken places, but Lisa wore hers like medals of honor. She was telling him that she'd been hurt before and always bounced back. He would be no exception.

Except he _would_ be an exception, he decided, feeling more centered than he had in days. If he couldn't upset her equilibrium by harming her, there were other ways. Her rapist had destroyed her sex drive; Jackson could bring it back. Wouldn't _that_ be a kick in the ass? The man she loathed as the best lay she'd ever had.

Jackson grinned to himself, pleased to have found a solution that suited both their needs perfectly. He wanted her, so much that it surprised him, and he was going to make her _need_ him. What better revenge could there be?

After making a quick stop to pick up lunch, he headed back to the hotel, feeling decidedly jaunty. He'd start this afternoon. Lisa wasn't immune to his charm; she'd proved that this morning on the sofa. Wearing down her defenses would be a delicate operation, but those were frequently the most satisfying.

He spent a delicious ride formulating his plans. It wouldn't do to be too obvious, too direct. Lisa was skittish, wary. He needed to take things slowly, perhaps start with a campaign of flattery, since she'd certainly liked being told she was beautiful.

He could scarcely suppress his smile as he approached the room, cheerfully tapping the bag from the cafe against his thigh. The door was firmly shut, the hallway serene, and he hoped Lisa had obeyed his eminently reasonable instructions for once.

He wasn't sure what it was, a whisper of air, a change in the quality of silence, but something tipped him off to a threat mere nanoseconds before he opened the door, giving him just enough time to duck.

A heartbeat later he was glad he had as one of their wooden dining chairs crashed into the door exactly where his head would have been, exploding in a shower of splinters that caught in his hair. Instead of standing up, he lunged forward, catching Lisa around the waist and tackling her to the floor, using his body weight to hold her down as he fought to restrain her swinging hands.

"Son of a bitch!" she shrieked, "You fucking liar! I'll kill you for this! I'll kill you!"

With an irritated glance over his shoulder, Jackson managed to get one foot free long enough to kick the door shut behind them, hoping vainly that neither Erik nor his staff were within earshot. Lisa's histrionics wouldn't do much for their just-married cover. Although thinking of some of the married couples he'd had the great pleasure of working with, her behavior wasn't so far-fetched.

With an effort, he finally managed to capture both of her hands, although it wasn't stopping her endless line of vitriolic threats. He toyed briefly with the idea of kissing her to shut her up, then decided against it. In the mood she was in now, she'd probably try to bite his tongue off. Instead he brought his forehead down sharply against hers, wincing as his skull ached from the impact of the headbutt. He really hated doing that.

Lisa's eyes glazed over briefly and her shouts died away. Taking advantage of the brief distraction, knowing he hadn't hit her nearly hard enough to knock her out, Jackson asked in a long-suffering tone, "What did I do _this_ time, Leese?"

"Bastard," she said softly, jerking her head towards the television that was still on, her eyes fluttering closed at the injudicious movement.

Warily, Jackson lifted himself off of her, taking firm hold of her upper arm to pull her along beside him as he moved so he could see the screen, not trusting her not to take off despite all his threats.

On the television, a perky-looking newscaster was doing her best to sound somber as she described an attempted assassination attempt that had taken place at the Miami International Airport less than an hour before. Thoughts still addled from the headbutt, it took Jackson a moment to realize who the target had been: Keefe. Of course.

"Fuck," he muttered, grabbing the remote to mute the sound, rolling his eyes at his colleagues' incompetence. A shooting. How utterly predictable. If one was going to fail, one should at least do so with style.

At his side, Lisa was still glaring at him, "You lying bastard."

"I had nothing to do with it," he informed her, tossing the remote back down, not feeling quite as nonchalant as he sounded. The Center wasn't wasting time with this. The Keefe job must be even more important than he'd thought it was if they were willing to go after him twice in the same city.

"I don't believe you," she hissed, and he rolled his eyes.

"I'd just like to point out that I was gone less than ninety minutes." He forced himself to relax his grip on her arm only slightly, knowing that he was holding her hard enough to hurt. "Now, I'm damned good, but even I couldn't get from here to Miami, take a shot at Keefe, get you lunch and make it back in that timeframe."

Her eyes flicked from the television screen to him and back again. "You set it up," she said, but she didn't sound quite as sure of herself."

"No," he shook his head, "We had a deal. I never lied to you, Leese, not really. Not about anything that mattered."

"Then who did it?" To his surprise, she seemed to take his word for it.

"The same people who sent me to kill him before." He released her, kicking the paper bag out of the way as he went to lock the door, "That's for you, by the way."

"What the hell's in it?" she asked warily, making a point of keeping her distance from the bag.

With a roll of his eyes, he kicked it towards her, watching her scramble out of the way, "A prosciutto and olive tapenade panini. Might not do wonders for your cholesterol, but it won't blow up."

Her eyes brightened a little as she picked up the now more than slightly dented bag, tossing the battered sandwich onto the dining table. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." The sheer incongruity of the domestic interchange made him feel like he was losing his mind. He went back to the relevant topic, "I didn't have anything to do with the hit. Our deal stands."

"No way," she said defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest, the sandwich forgotten "That's not how it works. The deal was me in exchange for Keefe's life. If he's still a target, I don't owe you a thing, _Jack_."

He was really, really starting to hate it when she called him that. "I said I wouldn't go after Keefe. I didn't."

"Semantics," she scoffed.

"A deal's a deal," he countered.

"Call it off," she demanded, "Call your friends and get the hit taken off Keefe."

His face shuttered at the request he should have seen coming. "Not going to happen," he said flatly.

"Then neither are we," she told him, stepping closer, her voice dropping into something approaching seductiveness. "And you _want_ us to happen, don't you, Jackson?"

His hand lifted towards her instinctively, and she stepped out of reach, triumph shining in her eyes. Silently, he cursed his inability to maintain his detachment around her. "Call it off," she said again, her voice husky.

"No," he bit out, not trusting himself to say more.

"Do it."

"No."

"Why not?" Her voice lowered as she once again moved close to him, close enough to let him feel the heat from her body. Just who was supposed to be seducing who here he wondered.

"I can't do that, Leese."

"Can't or won't?"

"I _can't_," the words grated from his throat, the admission nearly physically painful. "I don't have any influence with the Center anymore."

"What are you talking ab-" she started to ask impatiently, before she trailed off, her eyes widening. "They _fired_ you?"

He nearly laughed at the mundane word. "My services were no longer required," he acknowledged.

"You told me you were still supposed to kill him!" she exclaimed, her voice rising.

"No, I just said that I was going to kill him. That's my ticket back in. I _like_ my job, Leese. I'd like it back."

Her lips parted in outraged shock, but the tirade he'd expected about him being a monster who enjoyed killing innocents never came. Instead, her eyes lifted as she thought something out before a faint smile crossed her lips. "Well, then," she said, squaring her shoulders, "It sounds like we have the same goal."

"Excuse me?" She couldn't possibly be saying what he thought she was.

"We both want Keefe safe from your Center. I want him alive. So do you. At least for now. We need to make that happen."

She wasn't, but what she _was_ saying was shocking enough, "And it doesn't bother you that I'd only be saving him now to kill him later?"

"Of course it does!" her voice grew shrill for a moment, before she regained control of herself, "I'll deal with that later."

As far as Lisa went, that was probably the best he was ever going to get, and it decided the matter for him. "All right. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone-"

Lisa laughed bitterly. "Uh-uh. I'm going with you. I don't trust you, Jack."

He folded his arms, giving her his best intimidating glare, "You're not coming. You're a liability."

"You really think I can't sweet-talk Erik into letting me use his phone? I'll have every law enforcement officer in Florida on your ass before you get off the bridge."

"You're going to get yourself killed," he found himself veering dangerously out of control at the thought. If Lisa went, Lisa would be in danger. For some reason, he didn't like the idea.

"So what?" she shot back, "At least I'll die doing something, instead of sitting around here waiting for you to come back, screw me, and kill me."

She laughed softly at his dumbstruck expression. "Oh, come on, Jackson. Did you really think I didn't know? Did you think I thought this was true love?"

His eyes narrowed, "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm coming with you," she repeated slowly, as though explaining the concept to a particularly dim child. "We're in this together."

Jackson felt a flash of something at her words that he refused to let himself examine. "Fine," he snapped, "Go get changed. We're leaving in ten minutes."


	14. Chapter 14

Lisa was back in a matter of minutes, dragging her bag behind her. He turned to make a snide comment, then found himself blinking at her in disbelief. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"

She dropped the bag and held out her arms, looking down over her all-black apparel: tight pants, a turtleneck, leather boots. She turned her head and he realized even her hairband was black. "I'm a spy or a counter-assassin or something," she informed him, and he felt his eyebrows lifting higher. "You know, like Emma Peel."

"You look like a mime," he informed her flatly. "The idea is to _fit in_."

"I'll change when we get there," and she blinked when he shook his head.

"Dressed like that, you're going to be strip-searched and flagged before we even get on the plane. Change now."

"Plane? Keefe's in Miami."

"Yes, but he won't stay there. His people will get him out of there as fast as possible now that they know someone's still after him. We're going to meet him at his next stop."

"Which is?"

He shooed her back into the bedroom, speaking loudly enough to be heard through the closed door, "Aspen."

"I've never been to Aspen," Lisa commented, and he could hear clothes hitting the floor as she changed out of her black ensemble. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the door, fighting the urge to join her, maybe help her pick out something more appropriate...

And probably get a right cross for his trouble. Lisa wasn't going to let him lay a finger on her until she was satisfied Keefe was safe. This was rapidly turning into far more trouble than he'd ever imagined it being. Oddly enough, he was almost enjoying it.

"You're not going to see much of it this time either. The next assassin will probably be staked out at Keefe's hotel. We need to find him first."

"Do you know him?" she asked, and he jumped a little as the door swung out from under him. Lisa emerged from the bedroom, this time dressed in tailored gray pants and a green top that made her eyes sparkle.

Mentally he shook himself, wondering when 'sparkly eyes' had become part of his personal lexicon. "Much better," he praised, tossing a few hundred dollar bills on the table to pay for the room and the decimated chair. Erik would understand. "I don't know. Probably. If I don't, I'll be able to identify him."

"How?" Lisa trotted along beside him as he picked up both their bags, leading the way back to the Mercedes.

"Center employees are trained to fit in. He'll be the person who looks the most like he's part of the landscape."

"Like camouflage?" Lisa asked, her nose crinkling, no doubt picturing someone wearing a jumpsuit made out of astroturf.

"Like the most benevolent, nondescript human being imaginable. Like an accountant, but less noticeable."

"What if we pick the wrong guy and get one who really is an accountant?"

"He'll be so shell-shocked a pretty woman is speaking to him that he won't care if you hit him in the mouth," he told her flippantly, handing over the keys, "We won't get the wrong guy. You drive."

For once she didn't argue with him, and he was a bit irritated to notice that she didn't have to scoot the driver's seat forward in order to reach the pedals. Maybe it would be easier to intimidate her if he were taller. "What are you going to do?" she asked as she pulled out.

Jackson opened the glove compartment, pulling out a prescription pad. "Bereavement fare," he told her, waggling it in her face before he realized that teasing her while she was driving might not be the world's greatest idea. "I'm sorry, Lil, but your beloved Aunt Mae just died."

"Lil?" she repeated in disbelief.

He ignored her, pulling out his phone to get them reservations on a last-minute flight into Aspen. The young lady at the ticket desk was appropriately sympathetic as he explained their needs, and he hung up with a smile, pleased that things were going smoothly for a change.

He kept a firm grip on her hand when they got to the terminal, but Lisa showed no signs of planning to cut and run. Instead she went through check-in like a pro, displaying no nervousness at his presentation of the faked bereavement notice that earned them a solemn pout from the agent and a murmur of sympathy that Lisa accepted with a completely straight face. He was really very proud.

The cracks in Lisa's facade didn't show until they were taxing down the runway with only the bright sunlight preventing the experience from being a carbon copy of their first plane ride. Frowning, he bit his lip, suppressing his instinct to distract her as the plane gained speed. She wouldn't appreciate it, he didn't think, not this time.

To his shock, he found his fingers being crushed by hers when the plane lurched into the air; Lisa grabbed his hand, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, promising quietly, "You're okay, Leese," surprising himself by meaning it.

The connection lasted only moments. She tugged her hand out of his grasp as the plane leveled off, refusing to look at him as she muttered, "Let go." He released her without argument.

"You got it, Lil," his voice trilled over the silly nickname and he hid a smile as Lisa glared at him.

"Don't call me that," she demanded, turning her gaze out the window, muttering, "Makes me sound like some Old West showgirl."

The instant mental picture of Lisa clad in a cancan skirt and low-cut blouse, her hair done up in ringlets was more compelling than he would ever willingly admit. "Now you know how I feel."

"What was that, Jack?" she blinked innocently. "Oh, I'm sorry, _Ian_."

"For all you know, Jackson's not my real name anyway. Maybe it really is Ian," he taunted her.

Instead of looking confused, Lisa seemed captivated. "Is it?"

"Maybe." He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, pleased to have the upper hand for a change.

She swatted his arm, punishing him for ignoring her. "What's your real name?"

"Not telling."

"Bet I can guess- let's see, you're sophisticated, so you must come from money. You're kind of odd-looking, so-"

"_Odd-looking_?" he exclaimed in disbelief, turning his affronted gaze on Lisa again, all pretense of boredom gone.

Insouciantly, she nodded. "Yeah, your eyes are kind of weird. I bet it's something foreign."

"My eyes are _not_ weird," he protested. She was screwing with him. She had to be. _Everyone_ commented on how great his eyes were.

"Liam?" she suggested, and he rolled his eyes- his _fantastic_ eyes, he assured himself. "Declan?"

"I'm really not telling you now." He folded his arms over his chest, telling himself that he was not pouting.

"Well, if you're going to be like that..." Lisa paused, giving him an opening to say something else. He didn't. "I'm just going to call you Bob."

He winced, shooting her a pained look, "I think I'd rather you called me Jack."

She shook her head. "Bob, it is. Stay tuned for the ongoing adventures of Pecos Bob and Diamond Lil."

The comment came from out of nowhere, and before Jackson knew what was happening he was laughing uncontrollably, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the back of the seat in front of him. Beside him, he could hear Lisa giggling and every time he managed to regain some control, she'd add another detail to her Old West storyline.

"I can just see you in a plaid shirt and cowboy hat, galloping through the Santa Fe desert..."

"Plaid?" he protested, the image both hilarious and horrifying.

"Gambling... giving trick shooting demonstrations..."

"I'm a terrible shot." He finally managed to straighten back up, struggling to catch his breath.

"Fine, _I'll_ be the trick shooter. You can pick people's pockets while they're watching me."

"You're supposed to be the sexy cancan dancer who distracts my poker opponents," he argued.

"Then we'll ride off on our trusty steeds: Scotch and Seabreeze..."

Jackson lost it again, laughing until his sides ached. Thank God she hadn't thought to do this on their first plane ride. She wouldn't have had to stab him with the pen, just gotten him laughing hard enough to make her escape.

On second thought, maybe it was a shame she hadn't.

Lisa had stopped laughing and looked a bit unsettled. As he watched, she pulled her jacket more tightly around her and resumed cloud watching, like the last ten minutes hadn't happened at all.

Reaching out, his hand hovered over hers where it rested on the armrest for a long moment, before he contented himself with brushing his fingertips against the back of her hand. "Hmm?" She still didn't look at him, but he could feel the force of her attention once again directed at him.

"Jackson," he said softly, somehow feeling like he owed it to her. "It really is Jackson."


End file.
